


A Night Like This

by orphan_account



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Terrifying Tolkien Week, ttww
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5070538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Túrin has many terrible memories he would rather keep locked up in the back of his mind forever. Yet a particularly stormy evening takes him back in time and he is forced to relive one of his worst experiences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night Like This

"It happened on a night exactly like this," Túrin thought as he sat facing the window in Brandir's house. A few families in town had gathered together one particular afternoon to tell stories, talk about recent developments outside their settlement, and otherwise enjoy each others' company. Now not one of them was able to leave.

The weather outside made the hair stand on the backs of their necks. What had begun as a cheerful, sunny afternoon had quickly turned into a dreadful evening. The wind, howling eerily through the cracks in the house, was so strong that it broke off tough branches and bent trees at an angle.

The storm outside took Túrin back to another time. That night, in contrast to today, he had been alone (in spirit at least) and in immediate danger.

* * *

_Upon waking, the first thing he sensed was not the culprit of his interrupted sleep. Rather, he felt the cold rain hitting his face harshly, almost as if shards of ice were being thrown at him. Only then did he feel hands on him, trying to pull him upright. It was one of those monsters. He had no idea what it wanted with him. The only thing he knew for certain was that his bonds had been cut._

_"This is it," Túrin thought to himself. "They're trying to dispose of me."_

_His fear of what was happening to him, coupled with being blind in the pitch-blackness of the night and being deaf to anything other than the howling wind and the sound of rainfall, served to increase his desperation. With nothing to lose, Túrin struggled against his assailant._

_The creature was strong and tall, taller than most of the orcs in the group seemed to be. Still, Túrin managed to hold his own, not allowing himself to be pushed down or retrained. With nearly all the strength his weak body could muster, he landed a punch to his opponent's lower abdomen. Instead of apparel or armor, however, his fist met with a sword hilt._

_Fueled by adrenaline, and paying no attention to the intense pain in his hand, he took advantage of his opponent's split second of surprise at being punched, and reached for the sword. Unsheathing it at lightning speed, he stabbed at his opponent's shadow. With barely any ability to see, he could only hope his mark was on target._

_A cry of pain sounded in front of him. Not made by the low, guttural voice of Morgoth's minions. No. This was more high-pitched, and so very clear, carrying anguish in its every reverberation. Dread seized Túrin's heart. He had just injured, likely fatally, an elf or a human._

_At that very moment, lightning lit up the sky, an upside-down tree of light appearing in the sky in front of him. It brightened the world better than the sun. When Túrin saw what it revealed to him, his heart stopped. No emotions came, not even shock. He had to process in his conscious mind what he had just seen. Only after the light had left the sky, after the last deafening roar of thunder had dissipated, did he finally understand._

_Beleg. He had killed Beleg. His one true friend. The one who had looked after him, who had always been loyal, who had always loved him. Like a father Beleg had been to him. Now he was gone, skewered on a sword by Túrin's own hand._

_His mind told him he should feel infinite guilt and bear unimaginable remorse, but his heart did not listen to those instructions. He felt nothing. There was just shock and disbelief. He kept chanting Beleg's name. His brain was not able to do much else. As for his body, it was only able to follow the simple commands the old-looking elf, who had been Beleg's companion, gave him. Walk and sleep. Walk and sleep._

_"Why," he wondered in moments of greater lucidity, "why bother?" But to speak was too difficult._

* * *

A loud explosion of thunder above the house broke Túrin out of his reverie. It was followed a split second later by Níniel's shrill scream. When everyone in the room looked in her direction, she laughed uneasily, saying that she'd merely been frightened by the sound.

Túrin contemplated her for a moment. She was such a sweet and good-natured soul. Ever was there a genuine smile on her face, and a clear desire to be helpful. She was so much like Beleg. He loved her dearly, and was certain she was at least fond of him. Yet, what was there to do about it? He had failed everyone he ever cared for: his mother and sister, Beleg and Finduilas. A gnawing suspicion told Túrin that if he stayed with her, Níniel's fate would be just as grim as theirs.


End file.
